Searching For Their Souls

Cabaret Singers Run The Gantlet

On an airless August night, Bill Brooks strides up to the microphone on the stage at the Eugene O'Neill Memorial Theater Center in Waterford. He might as well be in a petri dish.

The Brooklyn resident is one of 35 ``fellows'' from throughout the country attending the 10th annual Cabaret Symposium, at which solo-spot singers pay big bucks for a nine-day workshop where a small army of professionals eyeball them with microscopic intensity.

The fellows begin their study in the art of cabaret by facing the toughest crowd there is: the old pros, who among them have several centuries' experience in the craft of performing-at-close-range.

Possessing a sweet tenor voice, Brooks sings the wistful ``Friendly Star'' with enough sensitivity to register tremors in Tibet. His eyes gaze heavenward. Every phrase has the familiarity of the well- rehearsed. He's in his own little world.

``OK,'' says Ellie Ellsworth, co-founder of the cabaret symposium and leader of the critique session, which features more than 15 other cabaret experts. ``How did you think it went?''

``Well,'' says the 36-year-old Brooks nervously, ``it went OK.''

``Un-hunh,'' says Ellsworth.

There's a shifting in the seats. Backs are stiffening. Bifocals are readjusted.

``Well, I felt kind of disconnected from myself.''

``You were looking at the back of the room, not at us,'' says Babbie Green, one of the teachers who specializes in acting techniquesfor singers. She goes on to criticize his preciousness. ``Remember,'' she says, ``mood spelled backwards is doom.''

Singer Marilyn Lovell Matz doesn't care for his boyish affectations.

``If you were a boy, I would have bought it,'' she says. ``The song calls for a position of demanding. Use your power as a man.''

``You cannot lie in cabaret,'' says Ellsworth. ``You have to be who you are. You can't get away from that. And `boyish' is cute but it's not who you really are. Have the confidence to know that choice. Be more mature, more authoritative.''

``We're all your psychiatrists,'' says Jack Wrangler, a cabaret director. ``And we're all in the room.''

``Could I make a request?'' asks songwriter Carol Woods. ``Take off the cap.''

``But my hair...,'' protests Brooks.

``Your hair looks fine.''

Brooks takes of his backwards- worn ``Wizard of Oz'' cap and nervously brushes his hair. The audience bursts into applause at the transformation. Clearly, this was a critique everyone had silently shared.

Brooks abandons his music and just recites words and suddenly, whether because he now feels like steak tartare or because he's having a cabaret epiphany, the lyrics ring true. He brings his focus back to earth and makes eye contact with his audience/therapists. The lyrics even touch himself and at one point he has a genuine catch in his voice. When it's time to sing the song again with piano accompaniment it's with more honesty, maturity and confidence.

Kay Starr, her well-seasoned voice marinated with years of experience, gives a final benediction. ``Now we see your soul.''

When it's over, Brooks is somewhat dazed but satisfied and collects the written comments scribbled by the teachers, as well as his colleagues.

``It was terrifying and exhilarating and sometimes not very pretty,'' says Brooks, who is an actor and is a typesetting/photo retoucher ``to pay the bills.'' ``It's a lot like therapy.''

Well, maybe group therapy.

Last Friday was the first day of the symposium. Brooks was one of 35 who paid $1,600 for the total musical immersion, beginning with this baptism by fire, followed by cold plunges into group and one-on- one coaching, as well as consultations with experts on acting, directing, comedy, design, accompaniment, booking and public relations. To perform the most lonley, vulnerable and risky of intimate arts, a little help is usually welcome.

These are brave souls from the start. After all, cabaret -- as opposed to lounge, a word which is verboten here -- is seen as an endangered species with even New York's swank Rainbow & Stars on the verge of extinction. There are barely enough gigs to keep the existing stars in sequins.

During the symposium, the singers also can see performances by the cabaret pros who have guided 350 fellows through the conference over the past decade. Boot Camp Cabaret-by-the-Sea ends Saturday, with the fellows' final presentations. These performances are open to the public.

Along the way, there's plenty of diva-licious advice from these seniors who remember the Lucky Strike/whiskey-sour era when cabaret was in its heyday.

Starr reminds the singers of the makeup of the typical cabaret audience: ``Remember, I'm dumb and I'm drunk.''